Limitless
by JayMayLay
Summary: 'The look of utter terror etched on his face will be the only way she is able to remember him for years to come. And as the life drains out of his eyes and the sound of her Mother's animalistic cries reach her ears, Hermione lets go of it all.' AU. Bellamione.


**So this is extremely AU. I've not written seriously in years, so bear with me! Wanted to have a go at some Bellamione with a little plot… I hope you like it! Criticism and advice is taken seriously, so long as it's constructive! **

**Chapter 1.**

The dull scratching of pen on paper filled Hermione's ears as she furiously scribbled notes in her History book. The howling wind sounded mournful outside of her window, juxtaposed to the gentle pitter-patter of rain that she found entirely comforting. A pause. Teeth nibbling on writing apparatus. An irritated frown blossomed on young features, and a huff escaped parted lips.

'Why she still insists on giving me such easy work, I'll never know…'

With a resounding thump, she closed her book, and reorganized her pile of papers and pens in such a way that they were perfectly presented on the small mahogany desk.

Looking around her room, Hermione found herself with nothing to do. As though on auto pilot, she stood from her desk and made her way out of her room. The smell of the Spaghetti Bolognese her mother had made earlier still lingered around the house, the smell of tomato and garlic, once appetising now set her stomach twisting.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs with a definitive creak on that last, awkward step, Hermione was greeted with a cold gust of wind and a face full of rain as her Father burst through the front door; wrestling an angry umbrella, and struggling to hold on to his hat. It made a rather funny picture, and Hermione let out an involuntary giggle upon seeing her father in such a way.

'Hello to you too, Princess. Find something funny?'

'No Dad, not at all! How was work?' She replied, letting her Father pass into the kitchen. Walking in, she flipped the switch on the kettle, and turned to her Father, a questioning look upon her face.

'Oh yes please sweetheart. Plenty strong as always, but one sugar please, I'm cutting down. Mother's orders…' He said the last bit with clear disdain lacing his voice, and Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself as she put two sugars in anyway.

'And work was okay thanks, if a little monotonous… Had the Baxter child in again today… Nearly lost my finger!'

'Dad you know full well the risks of your profession. If you come at children and shove strange metal objects in their mouth, then you're going to get hurt!'

The two shared a look before they both burst into laughter, both sporting the exact same lopsided grin.

'As much as I hate to ruin such a lovely moment… John there's something you need to know.' The laughter died down and Hermione's Mother walked into the kitchen, arms firmly folded across her chest.

'What is it, love?' Johns baritone a sharp contrast to his wife's softer, more subdued tones.

Turning to look at her daughter, she continued: 'Wouldn't it be best you explained, Hermione?'

Hermione's face immediately changed, any traces of mirth drained and replaced by eyes that wouldn't make eye contact and a mouth that pressed into a thin, hard line. Rubbing her now sweaty palms on her dressing gown, Hermione swallowed hard, hoping above all else that the ground would swallow her whole. She was really hoping she wouldn't have to tell her Father, his disappointment always seemed to affect her more than her Mother's screeching.

'I… You see – It's just that—'

'She got into a fight Johnathon! I received a call this morning from the school saying that Hermione had been moved into an empty classroom, because they were worried she was a danger to both staff and students! Really we're lucky the police aren't involved!'

Hermione's eyes moved from her mother's furious face to see how her Father was taking it. She immediately wished she'd not looked, as John's face was now entirely blank. Devoid of anything. He simply returned his daughters stare; an unreadable expression coming to rest on his face.

'Slow down dear, I can't understand you when you speak so fast' He commented, eyes still on his daughters.

'I said she put poor Rebecca Milling in the hospital! She broke her nose in three places John! Three bloody places! I've told her she is confined to this house indefinitely, and bright and early tomorrow, she is to go into school and make a public apology to both Rebecca and all the members of staff. Whatever punishment you deem fit is fine by me. God, I'm so angry I cannot even look at her!'

John raised a calming hand toward his wife as she reached the end of her tirade. He'd found her fiery temper attractive, many years ago. In times like this however, he found it entirely exhausting.

'I'll deal with this, love. You go and relax. I'll think of something suitable.'

With a nod and a peck on her husband's cheek, and left the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance in her daughters direction.

Hermione could deal with her Mother's anger. It was to be expected after all. It was the uncharacteristic silence that her father maintained that worried her. Usually when she'd done something to warrant a punishment – which was a rare occurrence – her father would say calmly and quietly that he was disappointed, which was all the punishment she needed.. This time was different.

Curling her arms around her in self comfort, she dejectedly followed her father out of the room without a word, swallowing razorblades and they made their way upstairs.

Reaching her own room, Hermione perched herself at the end of her bed as her Father stood with his back to her, staring quietly out the window. A sudden flash of lightening illuminated his features, adding fierce ridges where mere lines once resided, shadows twisting and contorting his face into an angry, solemn mask.

'Why?'

A mouth open then closed. Grasping for words, excuses, lies. Anything but the truth.

'I… Truth is dad – '

He turns to look at her. His face unreadable. Eyes so different than earlier. Familiar love and affection replaced by an accusing stare.

'The truth is… I can't give you a reason Dad. I'm sorry.'

With a deep breath, John faced his daughter completely.

'I'm disgusted Hermione. It sounds cruel, but I was hoping perhaps it was in self-defence – that perhaps you were being bullied and were put in a position where you had no choice.. But instead it was simply because you're barbaric and entirely lacking in morals or manners?! Your mother was right! It's hard to even look at you! The sweet, bright and ambitious girl I thought you to be was obviously a very cleverly fabricated lie! You're nothing more than a class bully!'

With each word that tumbled from her father's mouth, a tear clouded up her vision, until she could no longer see anything other than blurred colours, and hear the nervous ringing in her ears.

She wasn't sure when exactly she'd repositioned, but that night, Hermione found herself crying herself to sleep. Not because of the guilt of hurting Rebecca, or because of her parents reaction – but because the events of that day had convinced her she was losing her mind entirely.

* * *

'I heard that the year 11's exams this year are, like, even harder than when we had to do them!'

'Oh who honestly cares?! I'm more interested in the latest episode of – ' A pause. A glance to the left. 'More interested in the fact Granger has the same fucking bag as me!' Disbelief dancing on cruel features as she charges through the crowd of fellow students.

'OI, FUCK FACE!'

'HEY, TOOTHY, I'M TALKING TO YOU!'

She had barely turned to look before she was pushed brutally onto the concrete floor. Raising grazed hands in front of herself, Hermione looked up to see the fuming form of one Rebecca Milling. Anger wasn't kind to her face, and her already strangely small eyes were squinting in fury, her slightly upturned nose twitching as the anger boiled in her veins.

'What makes you think you have the right to have the same bag as me?! You should know by now Toothy, I'm queen here!' Hermione flinched at the familiar name calling. Although she was sure her teeth were now perfect, she had unfortunately taken a little while to grow into them, and for as long as she could remember Rebecca Milling had used this as ammunition against her.

Enraged at the lack of response, Rebecca delivered a swift kick to her gut, laughing as Hermione groaned in response. Blearily looking up from beneath her hands, Hermione realised she was alone with Rebecca. During the commotion the other students must have fled the corridors. Another kick, this time to head, sent Hermione reeling back. Pain engulfed her head, scorching hot and unforgiving. Her head started throbbing, and Hermione was fairly certain she was now crying.

Not from the blow to the head, but because for as long as she could remember, she'd had to deal with the taunts and physical violence from this girl, and for no reason other than she wanted to take out her own insecurities on someone who wouldn't take a stand. Hermione knew this was why she did it. Of course she did. Rebecca fucking Milling had made it her mission in life to taunt Hermione, and she couldn't take it anymore.

All the years of violence, cruel words, and social exclusion came rushing back. When she was 12, and Rebecca made friends with her, only so she could humiliate her in front of everybody when she spoke for the first time about how pretty she thought Abigail Pearson was.

When she was in the changing rooms, and put on her school shirt only to find it was covered in dog waste.

When she tried to stick up for herself against a group of them, and they all spat in her face.

The fake invites.

The cold stares.

NO.

Enough.

No fucking more!

A great heat erupted in Hermione's chest. Molten hot tendrils crawled beneath her skin, following the pathways of her veins, moving with every desperate beat of her heart. Hotter and hotter it became, until it was so painful she felt she would die. One last look at Rebeca's sneering face was enough.

_Crack!_

A deafening sound, and Rebecca was thrown three feet back. Looking in shock at her hands, Hermione stood frozen, staring at the girl lying unconscious and bleeding on the floor.

* * *

'- as a direct result of your behaviour, you are hereby excluded until the new term, and upon your return any free periods will be spent in detention. Indefinitely. If you could wait outside, I would like to take a moment to speak with your parents.'

With her head down and tears threatening to fall, Hermione swiftly exits the office of her head of 6th form and quickly proceeds in emptying the contents of her stomach into the nearest bin.

Even though she'd left the room, she still hears the hushed tones of her parents and teacher.

'I must say Mr and , that I am most disappointed. Your daughter is not only the top of her class in all 9 of her subjects, but she also showed the most maturity, and promise out of any student I have ever met. Despite all of this, we have a zero tolerance policy for violence in this school, and as such I have to make an example of her. She may return in precisely three weeks time. If for one moment I think her behaviour has regressed, I will not hesitate to expel her. '

Hermione didn't hear anything else. In fact the rest of the day was a blur. She was just relieved she wasn't expelled, and could finish her last few months of education in peace.

When she got home, Hermione went straight to the confines of her bedroom, and immediately fell on her bed, face first. Clinging on to her pillow, she breathed in the familiar freshness of her bedding, and let out a world weary sigh. Hermione was a bright girl. Some teachers would even say she was a teenage prodigy, so why was it that her own mind was lying to her?

Again and again she saw it happen. She felt the terrible heat running through her body. The rage as it built inside of her. The very second the hatred and aggression was released from her fingertips, and Rebecca was sent flying with a god awful _crack!_

There was no way to explain it. At first she reasoned that she was in shock, her mind was playing tricks on her. But at the age of 18, Hermione's brain was in perfect working order. No, there was no logical explanation for what happened. Even thinking about it brought back the simmering heat in her chest. Focusing on the feeling, she felt it warming her entire body, felt the ebbs and flows as it coursed through her veins. The more she focused on it, the more she could feel it. The more real it became. Warmth turned into a palpable energy she could feel pooling in her hands. Turning so she's laying on her back, Hermione lifts her hands to her face, and what she sees causes the breath to rush from her lungs.

There, lighting up her hands, were tiny violet sparks, dancing playfully along her hands, crackling and buzzing with energy.

'What on Earth…'

Opening up her hands, she shrieks and lunges out of the way when a book sitting on her shelf comes flying towards her at dangerous speeds.

Screaming hysterically, Hermione starts to sob as books, pencils paper and other objects from around her room begin flying around her. Her windows shatter, her bed lifts from the floor. The lights explode, and just as her Father rounds the corner to help, a shard of glass is firmly lodged in his throat.

The look of utter terror etched on his face will be the only way she is able to remember him for years to come. And as the life drains out of his eyes and the sound of her Mother's animalistic cries reach her ears, Hermione let's go of it all.

And the only place she's ever called home bursts into flames. Flames she could have sworn seemed alive.

**Dun dun dunnnn! So, what did you think? Let me know! Oh, and of course if you notice any mistakes, let me know! xx**


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